(Dedicated to my beloved Technogeek.)
Rodney Johnson hated meetings -- endless, boring meetings, just so the talking heads in expensive suits could all point to the I.T. guy and say, "Look, tech support is here. See, we really DO give a shit about network security...or database management...or software integration...or blah blah blah..."
Bleary-eyed, he stifled a yawn as he sipped tepid coffee from a paper cup. Serves me right, he thought, staying up until 2:00 am on a weeknight. But gaming with his buddies was just what he'd needed, fragging the hell out of his friends online until he almost passed out in front of the computer screen and finally dragged his exhausted ass to bed. He couldn't think of a better way to de-stress after a hard day.
Except maybe one.
Rod shot a furtive glance across the table at her -- Ms. Diana Archer, administrative assistant to the general manager -- his dream girl, the goddess he worshiped from afar. She looked almost as bored as he felt, but she hid it well from everyone, everyone but him. Rodney had watched her for months, studying all of her quirky little mannerisms; he felt like he knew her better than anyone else did, even though she'd barely ever spoken to him. He knew she liked her coffee with extra cream and two sugars, and he recognized her perfume, even when she was no longer in the room. Her lovely hazel eyes gazed intently at the notepad in front of her, but he could tell her mind was a million miles away. Her light brown hair was twisted in the back and held with a clip; messy little wavy tendrils caressed the back of her neck, and he desperately wanted to brush them aside with his fingertips and kiss her there...and there...and that other spot over there. Hell, he just wanted to kiss her all over. Reverently and respectfully, of course – because she was, after all, a goddess.
She wore a white blouse, unbuttoned just one button lower than office-appropriate -- and every time she fidgeted, every time she breathed, the fabric strained over her full breasts. The material was slightly sheer, and he thought her bra must be made out of some sort of lace, very thin, because her nipples just barely...
It suddenly occurred to him that he was staring at her tits, and he hastily looked down at his notes, scribbling furiously and hoping no one had noticed. Rod tried to appear deep in thought while they discussed the proposed firmware upgrade next week -- but all he could think about was rubbing those sweet little nubbins with his thumbs, and he could feel a firmware upgrade beginning in his crotch. Son of a bitch. Sporting a visible boner for his boss's secretary would be a severely career-limiting move. He had to adjust things to make it less noticeable, but he couldn't exactly grab his dick and yell, "Down, boy!" The meeting was drawing to a close, and there was no way in hell he could get up and file out of the room with everyone else, not in this condition. Unbidden, a bizarre picture flashed in his mind: of himself dressed as Teddy Roosevelt, leading the charge up San Juan Hill – not with an outstretched arm brandishing a cavalry sword, but waving his erect penis as a signal to rally the troops. Oh, hell no. He had to think fast.
He knocked his pen to the floor and kicked it nonchalantly (he hoped) under the conference table. Clearing his throat apologetically, he crawled under the table. If he could just shift his erection a little...it was too obvious poking down his pant leg, but maybe if he could push it up to get it to lay flat against his stomach, strangle it with the waistband of his boxers...or at least wait until everyone else had left the room...maybe he could slip into the men's room and tug a quick one off in the bathroom stall.
His breath caught at the sight before his eyes. Ms. Archer had kicked off her shoes under the table, and her toenails were painted deep cherry red; he supposed that if he licked them, they might taste sweet, like real cherries. Her legs were bare, no stockings, and he could smell the light, exotic perfume she always wore that he'd grown to love. He inhaled, breathing in her delicate scent, and wondered if she'd put a little dab behind her knees after her shower that morning. She shifted a little to slip her shoes back on, slightly hiking up her navy blue skirt, and her thighs parted for just a moment. Rodney swore he heard a heavenly choir as he was graced with a glimpse of Paradise: a perfect view of her yellow cotton panties, with little white daisies on them. His mouth went dry and his heart hammered in his chest as he pictured sliding his hands up her smooth skin, burying his head between those sweet thighs, and nuzzling and nipping gently at those tiny flowers. Fuck, oh fuck, this wasn't helping matters. Rod scrambled backwards clumsily, and whacked his head sharply on the underside of the table.
"OW, shit!" he exclaimed, rubbing the point of impact.
Ms. Archer peered under the table, a concerned look on her face. "Oh, my goodness, are you okay, Mr. Johnson?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, backing out from under the table.
"You know, I was going to call you today anyway," she said.
"Oh?" He could tell that it still wasn't safe to stand up, so he sat back down in his chair and began shuffling through meeting notes, pretending to be intensely engrossed in them.
"Yes, I'm having some problems with my computer. It keeps giving me a message that new software has been installed, and rebooting over and over – it's so frustrating! I was wondering if you could stop by my office maybe about 4:00, help me figure out what's wrong?"
"Uh, sure, okay, you'll still be here?" His voice shook a little and he cleared his throat, hoping she didn't notice his eagerness.
"Yes, that would be perfect." She smiled sweetly and he could feel his face grow hot. He didn't trust himself to speak without stammering, so he just nodded and kept staring at the papers in front of him.
"Umm, Mr. Johnson..."
He hadn't realized she'd crossed over to his side of the conference table, but suddenly, she was standing right next to him. Startled, he looked up from his meeting notes as she leaned over slightly, offering him a fabulous view of her gorgeous breasts. And yes, he could see that she was wearing a lacy white bra. It seemed she moved in slow motion as she reached her hand toward his...slowly, so slowly, she took the stack of papers, rotated them 180 degrees, and whispered, "These were upside down -– now they should be a little easier to read." She smiled again, winked, and left the room, humming to herself.
Back at his desk, Rod watched the minutes tick by on the clock; the rest of the day dragged so slowly that he felt like he was wading through quicksand in concrete combat boots. He answered countless tech support calls, removed viruses from three company laptops, and virus-scanned his own PC twice. He tested every pen on his desk, and threw out a couple that were dried out and inkless. He programmed several alarms and alerts into his iPhone - most importantly, one for his date...er, appointment with Ms. Archer. Too nervous to eat lunch, he downed two energy drinks and a Coke, then realized that was probably a mistake. He crumpled his useless meeting notes into little paper balls and shot baskets into his trashcan, or at least in that general direction. He started to make a graph of how many successful shots he'd made vs. how many total attempts...
And his phone interrupted with "Pour Some Sugar On Me". 3:45 -- YES. He hit the snooze option to silence it, and pumped his fist in the air. At 3:45 on a Friday, normally he'd be grabbing all of his stuff and racing to the door to beat rush hour. Instead, he was grabbing all his stuff and racing to the elevator to work unpaid overtime, and he couldn't be more excited. He shut down his system, gathered everything, locked his office, missed the elevator, took the stairs two at a time, and made it to the sixth floor by 3:53. The place was a ghost town since everyone tended to skate out early on Fridays. He walked quickly to Ms. Archer's office, panting, running his hand through his hair, trying not to sweat.
Her door was open, but her office was empty. What the fuck, she left early with everyone else? Rod's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. He was tempted to just go home and start drinking his way into the weekend, maybe annihilate some enemies in World of Warcraft, but his sense of duty won out. Sighing, he sat down in front of her computer, and started a preliminary scan. Yep, just as he suspected, it was the same virus he'd cleaned off those laptops earlier. He'd get rid of it, but it would take a little time for the whole system scan to finish, and for the virus protection upgrade to install. At least he was in her chair -- a chair that smelled of her perfume and had likely been in direct contact with her gorgeous ass just minutes ago. He smiled at that thought, leaning back and closing his eyes.
"Pour your sugar on me...oh, I can't get enough..." The snooze alarm on his phone went off again, but Rod was so exhausted that he dozed through it, incorporating the song into his dream -- which was rapidly turning into a not-safe-for-work rock video. Diana Archer was the star, bumping and grinding in a tiny yellow bikini. Then the bikini evaporated, and she wore nothing but daisies in her hair as she drizzled golden honey over her breasts. Mesmerized, he watched as she straddled his lap, slowly sliding her hands over her skin. Her left hand teased and tweaked her nipples, while her right hand continued down between her legs. Rod groaned as she slid her slim, perfectly manicured finger into her womanly wetness. "I'm hot, sticky sweet, from my head to my feet yeah..." Her eyes half-closed, she smiled down at him knowingly, and slipped her finger, slick with her juices, into his mouth. He sucked greedily, tasting honey, and flowers, and wine, and...
"Ooh, good song, I love it –"
"Me too," he breathed. He could feel her moist heat as she hovered just inches over his lap. He thrust his hips upward, seeking contact, but couldn't quite reach her.
"Def Leppard is such a great band," Diana declared. Rod wasn't sure why she was suddenly so interested in discussing music, but at this point he really didn't give a damn. Tossing back her head, she lifted her hair from the back of her neck while she gyrated to the song. Her breasts tantalized him, like luscious, ripe peaches just out of reach, and he was a starving man desperate for a taste. Rod tried to pull her down against his body, but found his arms were bound to the chair with heavy silver chains. Chains? Seriously, what the fuck was going on? He growled in frustration.
"Mr. Johnson, is everything okay?"
Rod's eyes flew open, and Ms. Archer was peering into his face, with the same look of gentle concern he'd seen after the meeting.
"Wha...?" He looked around in confusion, then down at his wrists, which were not manacled after all. "Oh man, I'm sorry," he mumbled, rubbing his hand across his eyes. "Late night last night, must have fallen asleep."
